


Harry & Luna's Excellent Adventure

by knifelesbian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Coming of Age, Gen, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POC Harry Potter, POC Hermione Granger, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Therapy, Trans Luna Lovegood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:46:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifelesbian/pseuds/knifelesbian
Summary: Harry's childhood was stolen from him by abuse, and his teenage years were stolen by the war. He hadn't thought he would live to see the other side of adulthood, but now that he has... what the hell is he supposed to do with his life?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

It started like this: a month or so after the end of the war, Kingsley Shacklebolt invited Harry, Ron, and Hermione to his office and offered the three of them acceptance into the Auror program. Harry, who could barely get out of bed these days, let alone filter himself, blurted out, “Oh, fuck off.”

Yeah. He told the interim Minister for Magic to fuck off. Of course, he immediately stumbled through an apology while Hermione looked up at the ceiling and seemed to be praying for patience, but it didn’t really matter in the long run. Harry wasn’t taking the Auror job, and so he didn’t need to suck up to the Minister, did he?

When he said this to Hermione later in the day, while they were getting coffees and Ron was signing his papers to join up with the Aurors, she sighed really pitifully and said, “Oh, Harry.”   
  


This did not make him feel much better. 

It helped, a little, that Hermione wasn’t joining the Aurors either. Of course, then she had to ruin it by deciding to return to Hogwarts for eighth year, and telling Harry in the same moment that he was going with her. Not asking, telling. “Really, Harry, what else are you going to do with your time? Plus, it would be beneficial for you--”

“Yeah, alright.”

“--to have your NEWTs, I know you don’t want to be an Auror anymore but there are--”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione, I’ve already said I’ll go.”

“--loads of other fields-- oh. Wait, that’s it?” Hermione asked, looking dumbstruck for what was quite possibly the first time in her life. “No arguing, no fight?”

He frowned at her, because she honestly sounded a bit disappointed. “What, did you  _ want  _ a fight?” 

“Well… no…” 

At the time, Harry hadn’t known she was lying, but apparently she was, because not a day later she and Ron had gotten into a row of epic proportions about her going back to Hogwarts. Their dedication to the argument might even be impressive if it wasn’t giving Harry premature grey hairs. They fight  _ everywhere  _ and  _ any time. _

Like, in Diagon Alley… 

(“‘Mione, why do you even want me here, what help can I be picking out school things when I’m not even--”

“Oh, so when I don’t invite you out you say I’m excluding you, and when I do invite you out you drag your feet? Would you  _ make up your mind--” _

“I’m just saying, I don’t get many days off from Training, and then when I get one you want to spend it at Flourish & Blott’s!”   
  


_ “Ronald--”) _

Or during Sunday Dinner at the Burrow… 

(“Ron, would you pass the salt?”

“Mrph.”

A clearing of the throat. “Ron, I said--”

“Mrph-mmph.”

“Mate, get your head out of those papers before I shove them down your throat--” Ginny was cut off by Harry kicking her in the knee and giving her his best  _ stay-out-of-it-for-your-own-sake _ look. Surprisingly, since it’s the first time they’ve interacted post-break-up, she closed her mouth, but it was too late.

“Oh, don’t stop there, Ginny, why not shove them up his  _ arse, _ right next to where his head is lodged in--”)

Or, worst of worst, halfway through the adjournment for lunch during  _ Draco Malfoy’s  _ court proceedings, which, for the sake of his sanity, he has mostly repressed the memory of, save for the vague impression of shouting and loud insults about table manners. (There are other reasons he’s blocked that day from his mind, but Ron and Hermione’s row is the only one he feels comfortable enough to acknowledge.)

They eventually sort it out, though for the life of him he can’t remember how; all he knows is that the night before Harry and Hermione are due to leave for Hogwarts, the three of them went out to a Muggle pub and Harry drank his weight in Smirnoff. He woke up the next morning to Ron and Hermione walking on eggshells around him, but not around each other. His best guess was he shouted them into submission at some point in the night, but they won’t tell him and Harry was too embarrassed to ask.

Harry drove the three of them to King’s Cross in the ancient Lincoln Continental he bought in a haze sometime over the summer. The car was the color of vomit and has a trunk so massive an Extension Charm would be a waste. Her name was Cecelia, and Harry loved her.

Ron tended to feel quite differently, though. 

“Mate,” Ron whined from where he had folded himself into the backseat, “is there any particular reason I can’t sit up front, or do you just hate me?”

Harry bit down on a smirk. “I told you, Hermione called shotgun. It’s a sacred Muggle tradition, don’t disrespect our culture.”

“Yeah, Ron, don’t disrespect our culture,” Hermione echoed, seemingly just to be a shithead. She has gotten into the habit lately of repeating Harry whenever he said something mean to Ron, for the sake of emphasis. He hoped she never stopped. 

Ron crossed his arms and pouted. “You lot say that every time I complain, I’m beginning to think you’re making it up.”

“Well, maybe if you whinged a bit less…” Harry trailed off, as they’d just arrived, and he needed to focus on parking. He backed in achingly slowly, holding his breath the whole time. Only once the car was in park and he’d turned the engine off did he allow himself to breathe again. 

Harry turned to look at Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “Are we ready?”

She grinned, wide and bright. “As we’ll ever be.”

_____

In her fourth year, Luna decided that she was going to make friends with that Harry Potter kid whether he liked it or not. She’d never made a friend before, but she thought she’d be quite good at it, if given the chance, and Harry looked as if he might benefit from some more friends at the time. 

She wasn’t sure if her efforts had succeeded until years later as she was waiting for the Hogwarts Express in a quiet corner of the station, pondering absently the merits of a Dirigible Plum martini, when her thoughts were interrupted by Harry Potter calling, “Luna! Luna, I’m so glad to see you!”

He bounded up to her like a great big Golden Retriever, and, when he saw that she was holding her arms out for a hug, scooped her up in his arms and spun happily, both of them laughing. Her arms were wound tightly around his neck, and his hands were fisted in the back of her sweater like he didn’t ever want to let go, and suddenly Luna felt extremely silly for ever doubting whether he considered her a friend. 

Harry put her down, but they didn’t let go of each other, and for a few moments they were still, drinking each other in after a long, dismal summer. Luna gently ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, commenting, “You’ve cut your hair again.”

“Hmph,” Harry grumbled into her shoulder— she was only a few inches shorter than him, which, as it turned out, was the perfect height for hugs— “Molly— Ron’s mum— made me sit down for a haircut before I left. Said I couldn’t go back to school looking mangy.”

His words were a little whiny, but his tone said that he actually enjoyed it quite a lot. Still carding her fingers through his hair, she replied, “That sounds quite nice. My mum used to cut my hair, too.”

Harry stared at her for a moment, nonplussed, and then-- it was back again. That look on his face, the one that was always halfway between bursting into tears and searching frantically for the nearest exit. She thought, maybe, that she used to see it a lot less often when they first became friends, but maybe it was just that she wasn’t paying close enough attention. “I-- yeah. Er. I mean--”

Feeling guilty, Luna interrupted him to ask, “Would you like to talk about something else?” 

“God, yes.”

Luna laughed, her hand sliding down to cup his cheek-- and that was when the cameras start flashing, because they’re both just unlucky that way.

Harry’s eyes fell closed, and he suddenly looked twenty years older than he is. His warm brown skin, cut through by the arcs of his lightning scar, took on a pallid tone, and the circles under his eyes were much more noticeable. With a sigh, he pulled away from her and said, “Let’s get on the train, I’m so sick of the cameras.”

They board, joining Hermione in a compartment near the end of the train, along with Neville, Dean, and a girl called Hannah Abbott who Luna didn’t know very well. Harry falls asleep within minutes, his head pillowed in Luna’s lap as the five of them chatted quietly about the coming school year. Every once and awhile, Harry’s face would twist up, troubled even in sleep. Luna stroked his hair gently each time, doing what she could to soothe him until he relaxed. It may not be much, but for now, it was the best she could do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of mental health, nightmares, mild gore (in a dream).

They were only three days into the term, but Harry was already exhausted. When he had agreed to return to Hogwarts for eighth year, he thought, maybe, that the familiarity of the castle would make him happy. It was a stupid idea, of course. Nothing about the school was familiar to him in a good way, anymore. It was, once. He had  _ so  _ many memories of the contentment and joy he’d felt when he was younger. Now he was just tired, and vaguely nauseous just about all the time. He missed his bed at Grimmauld Place. He missed holding Teddy in his arms. He missed the freedom of being miserable without judgement, without being watched.

Hermione watched him. She denied it whenever he told her to stop, but Harry had known her long enough to be able to tell when she was lying to him. Her gaze made his skin itch. He hated being watched in the first place, but the deep-seated belief that she was doing it because she was waiting for him to erupt like a fucking volcano made it altogether worse.

She was doing it now, even, from the opposite end of the eighth year dining table in the Great Hall. Harry was sitting with Luna, Neville, and Hannah Abbott, idly listening to them chat as he picked at his food and tried his very best to ignore Hermione’s eyes on him. She was embroiled in a conversation with Terry Boot and Padma Patil, but every few seconds her eyes flicked over to Harry. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him, wondered what she thought he was hiding. Hermione always thought he was hiding something, lately. 

Luna moved to lean against his arm, her warmth and the smell of her-- lavender and spices and a current of something unidentifiable-- distracting him from his thoughts. She didn’t even look at him as she did so, just kept telling Hannah some story about an awful tea her father once made her. Harry didn’t know whether she aimed to comfort him, spurred by her incomparable intuition, or herself, for some private reason, but he slung an arm around her shoulders anyways, and was rewarded by the way her smile grew brighter.

The memory of that smile kept him in a good mood until well into the night, but inevitably, sleep still eluded him, as it nearly always did. He waited until Neville and Dean had fallen asleep, then threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and slipped out of the eighth year dorms. Harry had fallen into the routine of sneaking out nearly every night, so it wasn’t very difficult. Neville and Dean both slept like the dead, and of course, Ron and Seamus were now a non-issue, both having been seduced thoroughly by the Aurors. At the very start of the school year, he’d been vaguely nervous about being caught by a teacher when he snuck out, but then he realized that he didn’t actually care. Risking detention was preferable to lying in bed, restless and pathetically terrified to go to sleep, knowing what kind of nightmares were lying in wait. 

Harry made the trek up to the Astronomy Tower, a vague plan forming in his mind to do a little work on the ceiling mural that got sort of decimated during the Battle. It was strange, but he found himself feeling comforted by the fact that he had no idea who or what caused the damage. Nearly every day walking about the castle, Harry had been unable to avoid the vicious deja vu that came with heading to Charms class and suddenly remembering that there was once a body right where he was standing. Many friends have confided in him since the year started that there are gaps in their memories of the Battle, as if what they saw was so horrible their brain automatically suppressed it. 

Harry remembered every single moment in perfect detail, and every time he closed his eyes he was there again, like a movie that never ended. Hermione would call him an obsessive, but since when had he ever been anything else? 

There was a crashing sound behind him, and Harry reacted like some sort of animal, muscles tensing, wand already out and pointing before he even saw who it was.  _ “Expelliarmus!” _

Luna Lovegood smiled dreamily as she watched the stuffed rabbit she’d been holding fly across the room. “Well, that wasn’t very nice, Harry.”

“Luna! I thought you were--” What  _ did  _ he think? What was left for him to fight now? “Well, I don’t know. You surprised me.”

Luna laughed softly, and to his ears it sounded like bells. “I surprise a lot of people, just not usually like that. Are you feeling alright, Harry?”

Harry summoned the stuffed rabbit, holding out the soft, worn toy in his open palm. Even from here, he could smell Luna’s perfume-- it must be perfume-- on the rabbit, so strong it was almost like he could feel it in the air. “Er, I’m alright. You?”

“Well, I was just roused from sleepwalking by a wand in my face, but other than that I’m doing okay.” Instead of taking the rabbit, she gently cupped his large hand in her small ones and curled his fingers around it. “I think it might be good if you borrowed Lapin, just for tonight.”

Harry frowned. “Luna, that’s very kind, but I don’t need… I mean, why would you think that I…” 

Luna reached up and patted his cheek, like he was a small child whose questions she found entertaining. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Why don’t you walk me back to Ravenclaw, and you can go back to the eighth year dorms and try to get some rest.”

He considered protesting, but she had already linked their arms together and started tugging him down the stairs before he could come up with anything. She pulled him into a discussion about the reconstruction, mentioning unsubtly that it was usually done in the daytime, wasn’t it, and before he could process the sarcasm she had hugged him and sent him off in the direction of the eighth year dorms, stepping back into Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry decided to listen to her advice and try to sleep, the toy rabbit still clutched in his hand as he got under the covers. He fell asleep in the middle of an argument with himself about going back to the Astronomy Tower, and woke up the next morning from a dreamless sleep.

_____

He made it about a week before he was hit by another nightmare. He went to sleep in his dorm bed and woke up in sixth year, on the night Dumbledore was killed. But this time, _he_ was Dumbledore, barely able to stand from pain, voice old and gentle right up until he was thrown from the ramparts, hurtling towards the courtyard below-- and then the dream reset, right before he hit the ground. This time, he was standing where Malfoy stood, but unlike him, Harry’s wand hand didn’t quiver, and he barely hesitated before shouting, _“Avada Kedavra!”_

The dream rewound as soon as Dumbledore had tumbled out of sight, and for a moment he was strangely relieved to find he was back in the memory, frozen in place out of sight. The relief died when he realizes it was not Malfoy who stands before Dumbledore, but Fenrir Greyback. He grinned, feral, then pounced, ripping Dumbledore’s body to gorey shreds right before Harry’s eyes. After what felt like hours of horrible crunching noises and bright red sprays of blood, Greyback lifted his head, wiping gore from his mouth. He grinned, slow and pleased, then turned to look right at Harry’s helpless form. He pounced--

Harry woke up, hyperventilating as he sprung out of bed. He rushed from the room, not bothering with shoes or his Invisibility Cloak. Only when he reached the top of the Astronomy Tower did he realize he must have been running, because he was out of breath. He considered summoning a bottle of water, but the thought had barely entered his head before the idea of consuming anything at all made him stumble to a nearby waste bin and vomit into it.

A hand patted him gently on the back, and Harry was only saved from blindly attacking by the sound of Luna’s lilting voice and the familiar smell of lavender. “There, there. It’s alright, Harry, you’re okay.”

Harry shook his head in disagreement, wiping his mouth as he turned to look at her. “How’d you-- how’d you know I was here?”

“Simple; I arrived only moments before you did, while sleepwalking.” With the hand not rubbing circles into his back, Luna summoned a glass of water and a pack of saltines, then held the glass up to his face. “Here, drink.”

She tipped the glass into his open mouth, and he swallowed without complaint. Once it was empty, Luna vanished it, then started to gently wipe at his face with the sleeve of her purple dressing gown. Only when the terrycloth swept along his wet cheeks did he realize he was crying. He was sitting on the floor of the Astronomy Tower bawling his eyes out like a child, and there Luna was, wiping at his tears and acting as if everything was totally normal.

“Why are you taking care of me?” He asked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You don’t-- I mean-- _ Luna.” _

Luna’s hands stilled. For a moment, she just looked at him, sadness pooling in her big silvery eyes-- and then she was pulling him close, wrapping her arms around him and hooking her chin over his shoulder. Harry pressed his face into the thicket of her hair and pretended he knew what to do with his hands, when in actuality he had no idea. He didn’t think he had ever been held like this before. He thought he understood, now, why some nights during Ron’s absence from the tent, Hermione would slip into his bed in the middle of the night and curl up against him. It was comforting, to be in the arms of someone who wanted nothing more than to keep you safe. 

After what seemed like a very long time, Luna sighed and said, “Harry, I am taking care of you because you are my friend, and you are struggling. And no one should be struggling alone.”

Harry sniffed, then admitted miserably, “I just don’t know what to do with all of it. All this anger and-- and sadness living in me, all this grief. I have  _ so  _ much grief, Luna, and I don’t-- I don’t know what to do with it. I don't know where to put it.”

Luna pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her warm hands. “Why don’t you give it to me? Just for a little while. That way, we can-- we can deal with it together.”

It was rare to hear Luna stutter like that. The strangeness of it was what made Harry agree, in the end. “Alright. How?”

She laughed, a soft, surprised thing. “There’s no simple answer, Harry, you know that. But the two of us can figure it out, don’t you think?”

“I think that you can do anything you put your mind to,” he replied, bewildered to feel the grin pulling at his lips, “and that I’m a stubborn prat.”

Luna snorted, which wasn’t exactly a disagreement. She stood, holding out a hand to help him up. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

Harry took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. “Yeah, Luna, I’m coming.”


End file.
